The Adventures of Yarn Spike
by DragonyPhoenix
Summary: Spike is a living doll.  A friend of mine knitted a few Spike dolls out of yarn, which inspired me to write these.
1. Chapter 1

Spike leaped off the edge of the dresser and landed face-first on the beige rug. "Ow," he said, rubbing a hand made of yarn over his nose. "Or, well, not ow since I don't have any pain receptors, but that was humiliating!"

Wobbling to the window, he bemoaned his lack of a real body. "I don't care how cute a doll I am, I'm still a doll." He climbed up the edge of the curtain and looked out of the open window. "Two stories up. That oughta do it," he said from the edge of the ledge. "Goodbye cruel world," he added as he jumped.

He landed face-first on the green grass. Pushing himself up, Spike said, "Well, that was entertaining for all of ninety seconds." As he looked up the vinyl siding of the house, he thought uh-oh.

"Hey," he shouted towards the house. "I'd like to get back in now! A little help here?" After a few moments, he added, "Hello?"


	2. Chapter 2

As Spike watched Xander face down Jack O'Toole, he snuck a kernel of popcorn out of the bowl – not easy to do when you're about a foot tall and made of yarn. "That Xander is a bit of all right," he said as he raised the popcorn to his mouth, which being made of yarn didn't open. He sighed, tossed the popcorn aside, and stared at the tv.

"Actually, he's a bit more than all right," he added as one yarn hand slipped down towards the top of his pants. It wouldn't slide under. "Hey!" he shouted. "These pants don't come off."

His expression didn't change as a terrible thought occurred to him. He reached his hand down lower. "No cock! I've got no cock!"

He fell against the couch and then quickly stood. "That's it! Somebody's gonna die!"

"whichclothes," he shouted to the room. "whichclothes! You know that scene from _Trilogy of Terror_ where the doll hunts Karen Black? That's gonna be you!"

He leaped from the couch to the floor. "That'll be you… as soon as I figure out where you've shipped me to." Heading towards the door, he added, "Or, um, as soon as I find out where you live." He started mumbling as he pulled himself up the stairs. "Bloody hell, now I've got to torture the information out of somebody. Do you know how hard it is to torture someone when you're a doll? Maybe they haven't tossed out the box I was mailed in yet. That'd be easy. One quick return to sender and I'm there."


	3. Chapter 3

Spike found himself on a windowsill, uncertain how he'd gotten there, and still made of yarn, which was bloody annoying, but neither of those mattered at the moment. He'd found food!

As he surveyed the room again, Spike's eyes were first drawn to an Angel-doll brooding in the corner. Blech! He was almost as bad as that other Spike that, happily, whichclothes had been smart enough to get rid of. Buffy was sitting on a bookshelf and yeah he'd like a fight but food first. He hadn't eaten in– Spike fell back against the window and stared up at the ceiling. How long had it been? He couldn't recall, but that was all the more reason to eat first. He went back to his two remaining choices: Xander and Willow.

There was something enticing about the way Xander was lying on the bed, but Willow, sitting on a desk and surrounded by books, looked too innocent for words. Something about "I'd bite you" flashed through Spike's mind, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it. Not that he had fingers, mind you. Spike looked back and forth between Willow and Xander until vague memories of "I'd bite you in a heartbeat" won out over even vaguer notions of "moist and delicious".

Taking a couple of wobbly steps, Spike launched himself towards the desk. He landed face first on the floor. "I can't believe I am still made of yarn," he muttered quietly, not wanting to put the other dolls on alert, as he climbed a chair up to the desk.

Wobbling towards Willow, he shook his head. He paused and shook it again. He patted yarn hands to yarn face. Dropping his arms, his eyes darted desperately around the room. "No fangs?" he shouted. "How the bloody hell am I supposed to feed with no fangs?"

"Ha!" As a shout came from the doorway, Spike fell back and landed at Willow's feet. He looked up to see whichclothes and some stupid cow of a woman standing there. "I told you he'd go for her," the cow was gloating. "Spillow wins the day. You owe me twenty bucks," she said, holding out her hand.

As whichclothes pulled out her wallet, she grumbled towards Spike. "You couldn't have gone for Xander even after I set him up so seductively? You did that on purpose, didn't you? There is no way I knitted straight!Spike."

Spike sat up and looked towards the other doll. His confusion shone through even his knitted face as he asked, "Spillow?"

Willow smiled at him.


	4. Chapter 4

After the stupid cow got her money, she picked up three of the dolls – Willow, Buffy, and Angel – placed them into boxes, and then into a large bag. Grabbing Spike, she squeezed him against her chest, shrieking, "Oh, you are so cute, I could just eat you up."

"Lemme go! Lemme go!" Spike shouted until she tossed him back onto the desk. "Careful there," he added as whichclothes and the woman headed out of the room.

Spike sat up, leaned against the pile of books, and stared off into space. His face kept turning though, drifting towards the Xander-doll lying on the bed. It was hard not to look. Xander's skin was paler than Spike remembered although that might have been because he was dressed all in black. His pants were black. He had on some sort of tight, tight black shirt – not that Spike was looking or anything - but the topper was his leather jacket. Spike just couldn't keep his eyes off of the boy, er, doll. He turned his head away, for all of twenty seconds. Xander looked... delicious. "And why am I sitting here alone?" he asked himself.

Spike stood and with a "Got to find a better way to get around", tossed himself off the desk. It was a quick climb up to the bed, given his motivation, but then Spike was kicking himself for the lameness of his "Come here often?" line until he thought he saw a smirk play itself across Xander's lips. "Quiet, are ya? That's all right; I'm bold enough for the both of us."

Spike leaned in for a kiss. Xander's lips twitched under his but didn't move otherwise. "Playing coy? Like a challenge, I do," Spike said as he kissed his way across Xander's jaw and to his neck. As Spike rubbed his hand across Xander's chest, the jacket fell back. "Hey," he said, sounding pleased. "Your clothes come off." Thoughts of how Xander would look naked had him pushing up the shirt until Xander's torso was revealed in all its glory. "Nice abs," he said as he lowered his head to kiss his way along the ridges.

"Time to lose these," Spike leered as he slipped his hand under Xander's pants. He looked up, turned his head to the side a bit, and shifted his hand around. "Bloody hell," he shouted as he pulled his hand out of the pants and threw himself on the bed next to Xander. "Neither one of us has cocks!"

They both stared up at the ceiling without speaking. After a few moments, Spike slipped his hand on top of Xander's.


	5. Chapter 5

"I can't believe I'm the one that bint shipped halfway around the world. I mean, I beat that stupid, coat-less yarn doll every time. Should've counted for something. Best man should win and all that." Spike didn't think too deeply about those fights. whichclothes had kept putting him and the other Spike into unnatural positions, which his mind was firmly insisting were wrestling maneuvers.

Spike came to the top of the stairs and pictured himself crawling down step by step. "I don't bloody think so." He threw himself down. Unfortunately, being made of yarn, he didn't have enough weight to carry him very far so he had to toss himself down the steps five times before he hit the bottom.

Picking himself up, he saw a couch, covered in a heavy weave of tan and black plaid, a coffee table that was obviously made from pressed wood, and a huge tv. "Ugh," he said to himself. "Furniture just hasn't been the same since IKEA showed up on the scene."

He wobbled into the room and saw movement to his right. Spike looked all the way up to the ceiling and then back down to the floor. The entire wall was covered in a mirror, one with meandering streams of something that didn't really look like gold scattered across it. "Oh, you've got to be kidding me."

As he started turning back towards the tv, hoping he could find Passions on, he noticed the movement again. "Hey!" he shouted. "I can see myself in the mirror!" As he wobbled toward his reflection, he added, "Not bad looking for a doll. At least I got the cool coat. Take that other Spike. No cheekbones though. What, has the bint never seen me? Could have used some fingers. How lazy can you– White socks?" Spike shuddered and quickly looked upwards. "Hair is a bit of all right though. Hmm, mouth doesn't open. Wonder how I'm able to talk mmmph mmph. Mmmph! Mmp mph mmmph!"


	6. Chapter 6

"At least she shipped me someplace where people smoke," Spike said as his knitted boots walked across the table to the smokes. "Damn! No lighter." He looked around the kitchen. "Where would I be if I were a lighter?" His thoughts turned to the purse he'd seen in the living room. "Worth a try."

Not wanting to climb up after them again, Spike kicked the pack of cigarettes off the table and then threw himself to the floor. He picked up the pack and placed it under his arm. It slipped to the floor before he'd taken two steps. He tried again. The pack fell to the floor again. He picked up the pack and held it between his knitted hands. He managed four steps before the pack fell to the floor. "Fine, you wait here," he said, giving the pack a kick. It slid away, stopping about a foot from the table.

Spike wobbled all the long way to the living room. He tried to open the snap on the purse by putting his arms between the snap and the body of the leather purse, but it wouldn't budge. He shoved his head under the strap and pushed as hard as he could. Nothing!

With a sigh, Spike wobbled through the living room, past the stairs, and into the study. The desk was at the far end. Spike fell as his knitted boots slid against the floor. He fell again. And again. He tried crawling, but his knitted hands and feet couldn't get a grip on the slick surface. He stood and fell, again and again, as he determinedly made his way across the room.

Finally, he made it. The desk had ornately carved legs, which made it easy to climb, especially compared to the walk across the floor. At the top of the desk, Spike found a pen. Tossing it to the floor, he threw himself down after and landed just in time to see it roll under the desk. Spike slipped and fell and slipped and fell until he made his way to the pen. Holding it at his side like a cane, he managed six steps before he fell. The pen rolled off. Spike slipped and fell his way to the pen. Using it once again as a cane, he managed five steps before he fell, but this time he held onto the pen. It was take about six steps and fall all the way across the room. Spike sighed with relief when his feet found the living room carpet. Wobbling his way back to the purse felt like a breeze after the torment of the study floor.

Spike stood on the leather purse as he wedged the pen between the purse and the snap. He kept lifting the pen until, with an audible snap, the purse opened. Peering in, Spike spotted the lighter right away. He wrapped his knitted hands around it and pulled. It slipped and fell even further into the purse. "Oh come on," he shouted. Spike knocked the purse over and pulled out its contents – Blood Moon lipstick, tissues, some sort of gum that felt like it'd been there forever, and assorted odd things he was afraid to try and identify – until the lighter lay on the floor.

He wrapped his arm around the lighter, having no bones had to be good for something, and wobbled back to the kitchen where he more than appreciated the grooved tiled surface that let him walk taking a tumble every bloody step.

The smokes were gone. Spike dropped the lighter and sank over it. If he'd had tear ducts, he would have cried. With a sigh, he stood himself up and started climbing the chair to see if the pack had been put back on the table. He'd just reached the seat when he had a thought. Tossing himself back to the floor, he kicked the lighter until it was hidden below the edge of a cabinet, and then he climbed back up the chair.

The smokes weren't on the table. He could see them on the counter though so he threw himself to the floor, climbed the handles of the cabinet drawers, and tossed both the smokes and himself down.

He tried to pull a cigarette out of the box, but his hands wouldn't fit in so Spike upended the whole box. Cigs rolled everywhere. With a loud sigh, he fetched one and brought it back to the lighter. He slammed his hand down on the metal spikes atop the flint wheel. The yarn stuck.

"Hey!" he shouted to the empty room. "Did you bloody well think about my design at all before you made me?"


End file.
